


You’re Doing Great, Love

by MashiarasDream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, D/s, Dom!Cas, Fluff, Love, M/M, One Shot, PWPWP: porn without plot without porn, Sub!Dean, bad headspace because PTSD, gentle!Dom Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 11:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13480494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashiarasDream/pseuds/MashiarasDream
Summary: When all the small shit goes wrong all through the day and no one even yells at him for it, it’s hard for Dean to feel like he deserves love. Fortunately, Cas won’t let him get away with anything else.





	You’re Doing Great, Love

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on a day when I needed to hear the words “you’re doing great” because my head insisted that I need punishment. So yeah, the author is writing from personal experience. 
> 
> Oh, and the book Cas is reading from is “Call of the Wild” by Jack London. Thank you gishwhes for making me read it out loud in public to my dog. The tourists were super-unimpressed with my dramatic reading skills.

“You’re doing great, Dean,“ Cas says, voice warm and gentle.

Dean is kneeling at his feet, posture straight, blindfold keeping him from concentrating on any visual stimulus. Cas pets a hand through his hair, so he concentrates on that. He doesn’t lean into the touch, though, keeps himself very still so that his posture will be perfect. That’s something at least. Something he can do to make the day right. To make Cas’ statement true.

Cas laughs quietly, and yeah, the way Dean doesn’t follow his touch probably broadcasts his state of mind just as well as if he was shouting. Which is – still a bit weird, if Dean is honest. He’s spent so much time in his life being loud and boisterous, and people take him seriously because of that, see him as more than a pretty face. Are possibly even a bit afraid of him sometimes. And then there’s Cas. Cas, who gets quiet and attentive and somehow quiets Dean down with him. Until it doesn’t need more than a tiny movement, a whispered sound to know exactly what the other one feels. What they want. It’s a bit like telepathy and a bit like magic and on most days, it’s great.

His mood gets darker still, because the days it’s not great are the days when it’s scary. And Dean gets even louder when he’s scared, an attempt to drown out the fear in temper, and he gets mean and says thinks that make him deserve Cas even less.

“Hey,” Cas nudges his shoulder. “No brooding. Let the dark thoughts pass. Concentrate on kneeling. On the way the carpet feels under you. On the stillness of the room. On my voice. And let me know when you’re ready to talk.”

That doesn’t need an answer seeing how Dean does decidedly not want to share any of the thoughts he’s just had with Cas. They’re nothing new anyway. It’s the same shit that always comes up.

There’s the rustle of paper and Dean can’t repress the tiny sigh of discontent. The TV would be so much better at distracting him from his thoughts than _the stillness of the room_ is. He’s not sure he can bear spending too much time all alone in his head today. That’s why he asked for this after all.

“Chapter 6: For the Love of a Man. When John Thornton froze his feet in the previous December his partners had made him comfortable and left him to get well…,” Cas starts reading.

This time, the breath Dean exhales sounds much like a sigh of relief. Cas acknowledges it by putting a hand on Dean’s neck, softly brushing his thumb over the fine hair on his nape. The chapter Cas is reading is somewhere in the middle of the book and Dean doesn’t remember anything about the book other than that Cas told him that it was written from the perspective of a dog.

It doesn’t matter, though. What matters is that Cas’ voice washes over him, blanketing him in sound to ground him in the present. At the same time, Cas’ warmth is seeping into him from where his fingers brush Dean’s skin.

In the velvety dark behind the blindfold, it seems like the room shrinks down around them, folds itself in until it cradles the two of them, protecting their little bubble of quiet from the noise and hectic movement of the outside world. Gradually, Dean’s shoulders come down from almost up over his ears to a more relaxed position.

Cas keeps reading, quietly and steadily, turning over the pages one-handed, making sure that his hand never leaves Dean. That Dean isn’t alone for a second even while Cas’ attention is on his book. Not that it really, one hundred percent is. Because every so often, at the end of a paragraph or after a page turn, Cas will stop for a moment to whisper an endearment. A reminder that “You’re doing so very well, Dean. This is very good. You’re being very good.”

They throw him, those little sentences of praise. Still throw him after all the time they’ve spent together. They serve no purpose other than to tell him that he’s loved. That things are okay. Cas has probably said it more often than everyone else in Dean’s life taken together. And Dean’s still not quite sure how to handle that. Especially on days like today. On days when he feels anything but good. When he feels like all the things that go wrong in the world are his fault and his skin twitches in anticipation of a punishment that he’s sure he deserves.

But the praise seeps into him just like the gentle tone of Cas’ voice and the warmth of his hands. He does his best not to think about it. To accept them as they are. To believe that Cas means them and that he deserves to hear them. It takes work. They’re in chapter seven already when he can bear a whispered “You’re doing so well, Dean. It’s everything I could ever want You’re everything I could ever want” without flinching, and he guesses they’re close to chapter eight when he manages not to tense at all at a “you’re wonderful, love” anymore.

He notes it as the progress it is at the same time that it draws his thoughts back to darker times. To the beginning of their relationship, when today would have ended in a fight. Because Dean wouldn’t have had the words, so he would have tried to make Cas punish him. Because Cas refused to punish when there was no infraction. The fact that Dean expects a punishment, wants it even, because he knows the pain will help him find an equilibrium was never enough for Cas. So instead, this. Quiet time and tasks set up for Dean to succeed. To convince his brain that indeed he’s worthy of good things.

“Are you okay?” Cas’ voice changes inflection from the steady roll of the words of the book to worry.

It’s only then that Dean notices that he has his arms slung around Cas’ leg and is holding on as if for dear life.

“Dean? Are you with me? Can you answer me?”

“Yeah,” Dean clears his throat and tries to shake the thoughts of the past. “Yeah, I’m here. I’m okay.”

“But your mind went to a bad place.”

“For a moment,” Dean admits. He preempts Cas’ next question by adding, “Was thinking about the aftermath of the pecan pie incident.”

“Oh,” Cas says, knowing the incident in question immediately.

“Still scares me, thinking about it,” Dean mumbles. He hasn’t let go of Cas’ leg, and instead of doing it now, he lets his forehead sink onto Cas’ thigh. It’s a reflex, hiding his face when admitting negative feelings, even though at least he manages to hide within Cas’ warmth instead of away from him.

“Me too,” Cas says softly. He holds onto Dean a little tighter. “We came very close to losing each other.”

“I don’t ever want that to happen,” Dean mumbles. He knows that he has a tendency to cling, a tendency to believe that everyone will leave him eventually, and right now, he literally clings to Cas’ leg as if he can physically force him to stay.

But here is the amazing thing about Cas, he doesn’t actually have to force him to stay. “I don’t want that, either,” Cas says and holds on, too. “I love you with all of my heart, Dean. I did so even on the day of the pecan pie incident.”

That makes Dean chuckle, if only a little bit.

“Do you want to do this without the blindfold?” Cas asks, because it’s become pretty obvious that Dean is ready to talk.

“Nah, this is fine,” Dean answers. The velvety darkness keeps his thoughts inwards, does not allow him to see all of the places where their apartment has accumulated dirt or is in need of smaller repairs. Not seeing that is a win in his book.

“Okay,” Cas nods. “How do you feel?”

Dean sighs because that’s never his favorite question. He shifts a little so that he can lean into Cas’ leg without holding on too tight. He feels into himself for a moment. Right now, he’s okay. “Warm and safe,” he answers.

“You are both of those things,” Cas agrees. “And loved. You are that, too.”

Dean’s pretty sure that his blush is visible even with the blindfold, but that’s okay, seeing how he doesn’t actually want to hide the way the sentence warms him. It’s one thing Dean knows he can do for Cas. To always show him how much his love is appreciated. How mutual it is.

“Do you still feel like you should be punished?”

It’s a cold shower after the warmth before. Dean’s shoulders hunch. Not in expectation of an actual punishment. Dean knows that won’t come. But because they’ve worked on this for so long and the impulse is still there. “Not right this second,” he mumbles.

“I understand,” Cas nods and squeezes Dean’s shoulder. “Thank you for asking for this instead.”

For an opportunity to be good. For a task set up to succeed. For a win that will allow Dean to accept Cas’ praise instead of wanting to be torn down. For a new option instead of continuing what Dean learned in his childhood and what he now knows to classify as abuse. At least, theoretically. His emotions have a tendency to lag behind what his conscious accepts as truth.

“I’m very proud of you, Dean. I know that this isn’t easy.”

Dean is thankful that he doesn’t add a _for you_. That he makes it a statement as if everyone is as fucked up as Dean and has a hard time finding his self-worth among the shards of his childhood.

“Is there anything in particular that happened today?”

Dean shrugs. “Nothing big. Lots of small shit. Repair that didn’t get finished. Customer that claimed I gave him bad service. Supplier that didn’t call back. Lots of stuff just didn’t go right.”

“And no one shouted at you for it,” Cas points out the second part of the equation.

“Well, the customer did his fair share of shouting,” Dean sighs. “But yeah, Bobby just shrugged and said shitty customers happen.”

And really, Bobby’s not wrong. Dean had done a good job on the car. It wasn’t his fault that the car was a shitty model and had immediately developed a new problem.

“Say it out loud,” Cas nudges him. “I want to hear it.”

Dean turns his head away, not comfortable having been caught with the rebellious thought. But no, not rebellious. Not here. Not with Cas. He takes a deep breath. “It wasn’t my fault. Customer was an asshole, my repair job was good.”

“Good boy” Cas says it quietly, but there’s so much warmth and pride in it that Dean doesn’t really know what to do with it.

“Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Can we take this off? I kind of want to kiss you.” He taps against the blindfold.

Instead of an answer, Cas leans forward to fumble with the knot of the tie. Dean holds still for him until the fabric falls away from his face. He blinks when the light floods back, everything unfocused for a moment.

“Come up here?” Cas holds a hand out for Dean who clambers unsteadily to his feet only to be drawn down on Cas’ lap and kissed soundly.

There are suddenly so many places connecting them that it’s almost overwhelming after the stillness of the world before. But he gets his bearings fast enough, pushing to get his hands behind Cas’ neck, to bring them closer. Cas helps him by pulling him in by the waist, his hands finding their way under Dean’s shirt. He’s ever so gentle and Dean melts into it. There won’t be a single harsh touch tonight. There never is on nights like this.

And Dean is good with that.

He wouldn’t have been, an hour ago. He would never have been, a year ago.

But if the pecan pie incident has shown one thing, it is this: they’re too stubborn to let their baggage dictate how their relationship goes. Their too stubborn to give up, either on each other or on themselves.

They did good, there. They did right.

Dean smiles into the kiss because that’s a good thought. That’s a thing worthy of doing and worthy of keeping and his heart is bursting with love for this beautiful man who refuses to hurt him, and, goddammit, he’s fucking proud that he can accept this love and kindness and not feel guilty about it.

“I love you and I trust you with my life. You know that, right?” he whispers into Cas’ open mouth.

It’s a leap of faith, keeping himself from destroying what they have in anticipation of a hurt to come. Accepting that what they have is real. That Cas holds his heart but will never decide to crush it.

“I know,” Cas whispers back, cradling Dean’s face to hold it at just enough distance that their eyes can meet. “I will always cherish this gift, Dean. And I don’t even have the words for how much I love you.”

“It’s not a gift, dummy,” Dean nudges him and smiles warmly. “You earned it. And I didn’t make it easy.”

“You sure didn’t,” Cas snorts, the memory of the pecan pie incident flitting through his eyes for a second before they focus back on the present.

A present where they’re warm and safe and happy and are wearing decidedly too many clothes.

Dean can see his thought mirrored in Cas’ eyes just before the corners of Cas’ mouth turn up into a grin. “What do you say, bedroom?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods “We gotta get rid of all of these clothes.”


End file.
